Hollow Dreamer
by Bottled.Stardust
Summary: Two weeks have passed since Trenzalore, one week since the dreams began. At first, the Doctor doesn't notice that anything is wrong- They're a typical stress response. He says they'll go away, yet Clara spends her nights alone and afraid of her own thoughts. By the time the Doctor realizes what's going on in her head, he may be too late to save her from her greatest enemy: herself.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: Hey! So I was having a little bit of a block on 'The Pocket Watch' so I decided it was time to start another fic. Don't worry, I'm still working on TPW, but the chapters might take a little longer until I can get over this hill with it. Anyways, this one is going to be a lot more angsty than that one. Enjoy!**

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_Clara Oswald was lost._

_ The sandstorm whirled around her, biting at her raw cheeks and stinging as it caught in her eyes. Her clothes felt loose and tattered, providing no protection from the wind raging against her with every step as cold jabs of air hissed through the rips and lashed against her skin. Whenever she dared to take a foot off the ground, the storm would blow her to the side, causing her path through the dunes to wobble side to side, leaving long gashes in the sand where her toes dragged against the wind. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, fingers clutching tightly to the sides of her shirt._

_ She was alone in the desert. For miles in every direction, waves of yellow dunes rose up like fallen sandcastles made by a giant hand. The wind had blown away any traces of a path she may have been following before, and so her steps traced an invisible path towards an unknown destination, the route tugging at her gut like a golden thread. Something was leading her on, anonymous, towards an endpoint she couldn't recognize. The heavy, dull roaring of the sandstorm echoed in her ears, but below that was a faint echo, a voice in her head egging her forward. Three words, looping relentlessly against the din of the wind. _Save the Doctor. Save the Doctor. Save the Doctor.

I'm trying! _She screamed back, fighting the dull monotony with a thought of her own. The world around her seemed to react, swirling together in an uproarious heave that crashed against her and brought her to her knees, her hands flying up and clutching at her face to shield it from the sand._

_Clara felt the wind drop and a sudden calmness spread over land. Shaking, she dared to look up and blink her sandy eyelashes, and there he was, just a few meters in front of her. The Doctor, her Doctor, his back turned towards her and his feet leaving heavy marks in the shifting sand that scattered in the wind and scraped against her exposed skin. _

_She cried out. "Doctor!" _

_Her voice echoed emptily over the sand as he turned to face her. He looked the same—same clothes, same hair, same face—but he gazed at her with unblinking, expressionless eyes. She reached one hand out, shaking, towards him, and it was like the gesture brought him back to reality. His eyes flickered and he fell forward suddenly, arms outstretched towards her. She felt a relieved sob rise in her throat as she struggled to regain her footing, to reach him._

_He opened his mouth. "Clara Oswald," He croaked, but that was all the sound he made. Clara scrambled back in horror as sand began to trickle from his mouth, and then his hair, and then out the edges of his sleeves. She screamed as her feet found purchase in the golden grains and she collapsed forward, her hands closing around his just as his warm skin melted into sand and he dissolved right before her eyes, blowing away in a gust that reignited the raging storm._

_"NO!" She tried to scream, to cry out, to let the tears fall as she dropped like a stone. The sand closed in over her head, trickling into her ears and her nose and her mouth as she tried to fight it. It was no use. The sand had claimed the Doctor, and now it was coming to suffocate her, too._

She awoke in a cold sweat, her sheets damp and sticky around her legs and her hands clutching the pillow so tightly she could barely force herself to unclench them. Her heart was hammering in her chest, making her feel lightheaded. Spots swam before her eyes.

There was a moment of silence. It was the silence after a nightmare where one curls in on oneself and slowly comes to terms with the fact that the events which they have just experienced were not real. Clara collapsed back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, breathing hard. _It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream._

She could still feel it. Her fingers curled, remembering the Doctor's hands dissolving underneath them, and she shut her eyes against the image of his gaze meeting hers for one last second as his skin crumbled. Curling deeper down into the damp sheets, Clara let out a thick, choked sob.

The door slammed open.

Clara bolted up into a sitting position as she heard footsteps on the carpet. The Doctor had burst into the room, chest heaving. "I heard noise," He told her between breaths. "Are you okay?"

She stared at him, standing there in his ridiculous bowtie and purple coat, and her heart rate slowly sank back to normal. He was still _here_, she reminded himself. They were just dreams.

Wordlessly, she clambered out of bed and threw herself at him in a hug, breathing in the familiar smell of the TARDIS that lingered on his shirt and half-expecting to feel him vanish beneath her fingers again. He remained solid, and she felt his arms wrap around her and pull her close. "Everything okay?"

"Nightmare," She managed, her face still pressed into his chest.

It rose and fell as he let out a long, slow sigh. "Again?"

She nodded and pulled back, loosening her grip on him to sit down at the edge of the bed with a shuddering sigh. The mattress dipped and creaked as he sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. She could feel his gaze boring into her skin, and she finally sighed and answered his unasked question. "Just a nightmare," She mumbled, her eyes downcast. "Nothing serious. 'M sure I'm fine. Go back to the console room, I'm exhausted."

Her response gave him pause. "Are you sure you're okay?" She could tell he was about to start worrying.

She glanced up at him and forced a smile. "I'll be fine in the morning. Now go, I want to get back to sleep." She nudged him with her shoulder so he stood up and removed his arm from around her shoulders. She pushed herself to her feet after him and reached out, squeezing his hand one more time, more to reassure herself that he wasn't going to turn to sand than to convince him she was all right.

He stood quite still, gazing at her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, "All right. Good night, Clara."

"Night," She responded, feeling a little tug in her chest as he slowly left the room and pulled the door closed with a click.

Clara remained standing for several minutes after he'd left, bare feet sunk a centimeter deep in the thick carpet and eyes glued to the door, a sickened feeling in her gut and a wish in the back of her mind that she could just tell him what was wrong.

He'd never believe her. Or even if he did, he wouldn't think they mattered. _Everyone has nightmares,_ he'd say with one of his sad little smiles. _It's not uncommon after something like what happened to you._

Trenzalore. Clara took in a deep, shuddering breath, and sank back down onto the bed behind her. Almost two weeks had passed since then. First, she'd been okay. A little weak, a little shaky on her feet, but more or less okay. Then, just a week ago, the dreams had started.

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**If you got this far and want to read more, a review is much appreciated! They motivate me to write and don't take too long to send. So please, take a moment and give me a little bit of feedback. I'd love to read anything you have to say on the matter!**


	2. Chapter 2

Clara had been staying on the TARDIS for almost two weeks, and that was what worried him.

Before Trenzalore, she had been insistent that their routine was constant. She gave him her Wednesdays and nothing else, and he tried to accept that. She had her life, and he had his. It hadn't been the best of arrangements, but he'd respected her wishes. She'd certainly appreciated his understanding, however forced it sometimes was (he really wasn't very good at aiming; someday he'd miss Wednesday, and then what?), and that was enough for him. So when she'd approached him just a few hours after he'd pulled her out of his time stream, her request had shocked him quite a bit. He still remembered the strange, out of character way she'd acted when she'd asked.

_"Doctor?" Clara's voice sounded thin and reedy, shocking him out of his reverie as he sat in the mechanic's swing beneath the console, fingers delicately tucking a loose wire back into its casing after it had popped out during the events of their latest adventure. He glanced up, surprised, catching a glimpse of bare feet at the edge of the room, the rest of his companion's body hidden from view. _

_"Clara! You're awake!" He leaped out of the swing and came up the stairs to see her standing just at the doorway in a position distinctly unlike her. With her feet turned in so one big toe rested over the other, her arms hugging herself and her hair in a disheveled mess, Clara Oswald was no longer his Impossible Girl, with her brilliant smiles and quick attitude. She looked, quite simply, tired. Broken. So curled into herself that it practically broke his hearts just to see her. He took a step forward, towards her. "Clara?"_

_She stepped back, lower lip quivering. For the first time he noticed the tiny tremors wracking her body. "How long have I been asleep?" She asked quietly._

_"Not sure. An hour or so?" He slipped his sonic back into his pocket and pulled up one sleeve to glance at his wristwatch. "Just under two hours. How do you feel?"_

_She shifted on bare feet, tucking her heels together. "Not sure yet," She responded, her voice small. "Couldn't sleep any longer, though."_

_"That's fine. Not sure is fine. There's still time." _

_She bit her lip and glanced down at the floor, and it struck him how deceiving looks could be. If someone had told him just a day ago that the tiny, fragile girl in front of him was the one who would save his life, he wouldn't have known what to think. _

_She flicked her gaze back up to meet his, and he noticed her arms slip closer around herself. "Doctor?" She began hesitantly. He could sense a question hanging in the air before her lips parted and she whispered, "Can I ask for a favor?"_

_His brow furrowed. "Of course, Clara. Anything. Anything at all. What is it?"_

_ She paused. "Can I… Stay here? With you, in the TARDIS? For a while, at least?"_

_ His eyes widened. "On the TARDIS?" Under any other circumstances, he would have been excited, but somehow the look in her eyes made a feeling of dread settle in his hearts, and he knew that the question was not one she would have asked if she were okay. _

_ She nodded slightly. "If… If that's all right."_

_ The Doctor stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "Oh, Clara. Of course you can."_

_ "Thanks."She offered him a small smile, and then stepped back and mumbled, "I'm going to go back to sleep now. G'night."_

_ Her abrupt end to the conversation didn't stop him from replying with a 'good night' of his own. He leaned towards her and kissed her forehead lightly, hands momentarily resting against her cheeks. She gave him the tiniest hint of a smile._

_ After she turned and the sound of her bare feet smacking against the metal floor faded, the Doctor returned to the mechanic's swing in the hopes of finishing up his work, but found himself unable to focus. After the third time he gave himself a shock with an exposed electrical wire, he sighed and tucked it back into its casing as best he could, then returned to the platform around the central console and spent the next few hours aimlessly with the controls, his mind straying back towards Clara every time he allowed it to._

The next morning, he remembered, she'd come out looking much better. She'd smiled and told him that she felt okay now that she'd slept, but that she still wanted to stay. He should have known that meant she still had her doubts, but he was too elated to see her smile to notice. Any worry he'd had left nagging at the back of his mind had slowly melted over the course of the next few days, their adventures milder than usual but longer now that she didn't have to worry about responsibilities at home.

The sixth night of her stay was the night he first heard her screaming.

He'd jumped out of his chair and ran down the hall at a full sprint, Amelia's glasses still on his face and River's novel still in one hand. When he barged into her room, he found Clara in the throes of a nightmare, her hair damp with sweat and her eyes screwed shut. As he ran to her side they'd flown open, her pupils dilated with fear, and she'd said nothing as she sat up, breathing heavily. Eventually, she'd told him it was just a nightmare and to leave her alone, and that same conversation had happened the night after that and mere moments ago, as well. Everything had been quiet since he'd returned from Clara's room, but that didn't keep the Time Lord from pausing in his work every few moments to listen for the slightest sound.

The nightmares were normal, of course. Given what she'd been through, it was only expected that her mind deal with it in the only way it knew how: the dreams. It would take some time to heal, but hopefully she'd be right as rain within the month. Of course, he didn't have much experience at all with these sorts of things. His companions didn't frequently throw themselves into his timestream, after all. All this was fairly new to him.

It was nearly an hour and a half later when Clara finally emerged. He was alerted to her presence by the sound of shoes against metal, and glanced up to see her enter the console room. She looked all right, he supposed, her hair combed and down and a dark jacket drawn over a red dress. Like normal Clara. He came up to meet her just as she cupped a hand over her mouth in a yawn. "Hey," He greeted her anxiously. "How'd you sleep?"

"All right," She said, though she was still blinking sleep out of her eyes and she'd forgotten to put on makeup. "Pretty soundly after I woke up the one time."

He noticed she avoided voicing the reason she had awoken, and decided not to bring it up. "That's good," He replied. "I'm glad to hear it."

They both hesitated after that. The quiet hung over them like a suffocating blanket, both standing wordlessly because he still remembered her screaming and she knew he hadn't forgotten. Of course he was worried. Why wouldn't he be?

In the end, it was Clara who first broke the silence. She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped past him with a small smile, reaching one hand out to rest it against the edge of the console. "So," She said. "Where are we off to?"

His hearts twisted, confliction raging within them. Her casual way of brushing off the nightmares made him think that something was going on past the dreams, but she didn't want to talk about it. The last thing she'd ask for was him prying where she didn't want him, but what if that was what she _needed_?

The Doctor's head drooped slightly and he rested against the console, running one hand through his hair and letting out a heavy sigh. Humans weren't his strong suit, they really weren't. He wanted to do all he could to help Clara, and maybe for the moment that was playing along with her nonchalance.

There was a small cough, and he felt a shoulder nudge his arm. "You okay?" Clara's soft voice asked.

Despite himself, he let out a small chuckle. That was his Clara—always worried about him, even when she didn't need to be. "Of course I am." He pushed the matters of her dreams out of his mind for the moment and straightened up, forcing a smile. "Right, then! Traveling! I had a planet in mind for today, you know. Big old planet, sort of out near Akhaten. Totally uninhabited. Absolutely gorgeous in the summertime! What do you say we drop by for a visit?" He flipped a switch and glanced down at her.

A smile lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle—a real smile. He'd missed those. In spite of himself, he grinned back. Maybe he _was_ overthinking things too much. She would be just fine.

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**A/n: Don't forget to review! Any words of feedback you want to offer are greatly appreciated, and fuel my writing. c:**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Just to clear things up, this does take place following the events of last chapter, just with most of the actual adventure cut out to get to the point. The plot is approaching! We should be getting into stuff within the next chapter or so. Enjoy!**

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"Run!" The Doctor urged Clara on as he dragged her by the hand through the crowded streets of the alien marketplace.

He could hear her behind him, panting, her steps faltering every few moments as she tried to keep up with his long legs. "Can you still see them?" She shouted over the wind whistling in their ears and the yells of surprise from the locals as they barreled through.

The Doctor risked slowing his pace just a fraction, enough that he could risk a glance behind them. The air was thick and heavy, clogged with smoke and steam from the market stalls and strongly layered with the scents of unfamiliar food and the smells of unhygienic aliens. He noted the stench, wrinkling his nose, and made a note not to come back to this place.

He could only look back for a second, as the roads were narrow and winding, but between snatches of sight he could spot the silver uniforms marking members of the planet's authorities and hear their loud shouts demanding his surrender.

A flash of blue caught his eye. _The TARDIS._ "Come on, Clara!" He shouted to his companion, tightening his grip around her hand. "We're almost there!"

She didn't reply, though he could hear her labored breathing and felt her hand tighten in response to his words. He propelled them onwards, and the TARDIS doors were in sight. They were only meters away when he heard a shout and Clara dropped like a deadweight.

The sudden pressure against his hand stopped him in his tracks and almost brought him crashing down next to her. He turned, frantic, to see that she was curled up in the dust, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. "Oh, no," He mumbled, dropping to his knees, hands hovering uncertainly near her body. "No, no, no, what did they do to you?"

There were raised voices from nearby and the first silver-clad alien shoved its way through the crowd. It was tall, with long legs and leathery skin the color of old shoes. Its ears were small and curled like a rhino's, but it had four eyes that blinked down at the Doctor and Clara. It seemed shocked by the sudden stop, but aimed its weapon towards the Doctor nonetheless.

Trembling with rage, the Time Lord stared down the barrel of the weapon and slowly got to his feet. "_What,_ exactly," He snarled through gritted teeth, "did you do to her?"

The alien's facial expressions were hard to read, but it lowered its gun slightly and made a clicking, chattering noise, like an insect—the TARDIS had surely translated it for him, but the blood was roaring in his ears and the translation matrix didn't work when the brain was clouded with strong emotions. He curled his hands into fists and was a second away from making a rash decision, but he settled to glaring at the thing as he leaned down, scooped up Clara in his arms, and backed away. It stood still and watched him, and through his anger he realized that they hadn't been trying to harm him or Clara, merely chase them away and make a show out of it in the process. So why had they fired at her?

She shifted ever so slightly in his arms but made no sound. His hearts were pounding in his chest as he turned away from the alien and bolted for the TARDIS, through the last few meters of startled locals. Her door responded to the touch of his shoulder and swung inwards as he ran into the console room, Clara swinging limply in his arms. Med bay. He needed to get her to the med bay. The TARDIS would be able to help, if he could convince her to. "Med bay!" He bellowed into the empty space as he headed towards a corridor. "Now!"

His ship made a noise of displeasure, but a door to his left opened and he stumbled into the first room of the medical bay, his shoes leaving muddy streaks on the white tile floors. He whispered a thanks to the TARDIS and gently set Clara down on a cot near the wall, pausing to brush her hair from her face and press a kiss to her forehead. His hands shook as he carefully looked her over, searching for any sign of injury that would show on her clothes—a burn mark, a rip, anything. But other than the nick in her jacket from when she'd snagged it on a broken piece of wood, there was nothing. He muttered to himself as he checked her pulse, then her breathing, then crossed the room to the rows of cabinets displaying hundreds of types of medicine. His hands were shaking. He'd never had to use the med bay much before, usually just being able to get to a hospital if he needed to. The one in New New York could have worked, but he didn't know how much time he had and he couldn't risk moving her.

He was halfway through a cabinet of alien pain medications when he remembered that the TARDIS could create specialized medicines based on a scan of the patients in the room. The machine was on the opposite wall, rows and rows of buttons on a device that essentially looked like a glorified microwave (which it was; he'd gotten bored). After a few key codes, the machine made a soft humming noise and beeped a light, and he glanced over to Clara's still form to see her engulfed momentarily by a green glow as his ship scanned her body for ailment. The Doctor drummed his fingers against the door as he watched an opaque liquid dispense through a nozzle fitted to the ceiling of the chamber into a waiting cup.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," He murmured to the TARDIS as he opened the door and took out the cup. It was frothy and dark brown, hot enough to be felt through the sides of the cup and sending curls of steam into the air. He frowned as the smell of it reached his nose. "What?" He raised the cup to his lips and took a small sip, wincing at the bitter taste and the scalding feeling as it slid down his throat. Of _course_. He scowled and set the cup down, glaring up at the ceiling. "Coffee?" He said, crossing his arms. "_Really_? She could be dying, and you're making cheap jokes! I don't need your snark right now!"

His back was to Clara at that particular moment, but he heard the mattress shift and a small snuffling noise. The Doctor spun around and raced back to her, leaving the cup of coffee sitting atop the machine it had come from. Clara had turned onto her side, legs curled inward and arms slung over the edge. Her eyes were still closed, but a wheezing sound was now accompanying the sound of her breathing. He frowned and crouched down so his eyes were level with hers, wondering what it was he was missing.

As her next exhale brought the same soft, snorting sound and her breath tickled his nose, it hit him. The sound she was making was _snoring—_Somehow, for some reason, Clara Oswald had fallen asleep right in the middle of one of their adventures. The realization made him relax (and understand the coffee—he muttered an apology to the TARDIS), but posed more questions than it answered. How had she managed to spontaneously fall asleep with all the adrenaline of a chase pumping through her veins? She hadn't seemed tired when she'd gotten up that morning, despite the subtle things he'd noticed, like the fact that she'd forgotten to put makeup on. She'd been showing no signs of sleep deprivation, not even dark circles under her eyes. So how had this happened?

"Clara," The Doctor murmured, straightening up and touching her shoulder gently, shaking it in the hopes of waking her up.

She mumbled something inaudible and rolled over, curling up with her legs tucked up against her. He almost left her there to sleep, but she'd never been to the med bay and if she woke up there, alone, she might panic. So, with the comforting knowledge that she wasn't hurt, he scooped her back up and carried her back out into the hallway. Her bedroom was just down the corridor, so he gently let her down on the bed and eased her shoes off. She looked to be sleeping soundly, so he left her there and returned to the console room, figuring he'd find something to do while she slept.

The TARDIS' screens were all displaying pages of information in a different language when he returned—probably about sleep, her further teasing his lack of observance in Clara's sudden unconsciousness. He ignored them and turned the screens off, instead setting the TARDIS to float in space, where she'd be safe, and picking up a book to pass the time. But even as he read through the old Agatha Christie book for the umpteenth time, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't right.

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**Don't forget to review! It would mean a lot, and it was actually all the lovely reviews I've gotten in the past few days that spurred me on to write this entire chapter in the morning before I left for school. I'd love your feedback, if you'd care to give it! c:**


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